


When You Are Through Changing

by brevitas



Series: Quicksilver [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Shapeshifters AU, paranormal themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:20:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevitas/pseuds/brevitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire begrudgingly goes home with Enjolras and gets a surprise visitor in the middle of the night (really, Enjolras' curiosity runs away with him sometimes).</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Are Through Changing

They linger in the bar for a half hour more until Enjolras finally stands and says, "Well, I think that's about it." To the best of Grantaire's knowledge they've been discussing politics and revolution since they sat down in here and that pattern continues even when he takes a seat with them. He is veritably silent during their conversation, watching them with one unimpressed cocked eyebrow.

He waits until Combeferre and Courfeyrac both stand and then rises himself, absentmindedly tucking his collar under the high hem of his turtleneck. It's a habit he can't quite remind himself to break despite how unnecessary it is right now and he receives a few curious glances for it but no one asks.

Enjolras shakes people's hands and they all say goodbye to each other, talking like the old friends Grantaire assumes they are. He's only caught one or two of their names and honestly hadn't put much effort into remembering those he'd heard, and he nods at those that clap his back but offers nothing better than that.

"So, Grantaire, why did you lie about being a mule?" It's Courfeyrac, falling into step beside him as they walk outside. Combeferre and Enjolras are a little bit ahead, deep in conversation. "Seems like kinda a weird thing to lie about. Are you something feminine?" When Grantaire just frowns at him Courfeyrac laughs and says cheerily, "Nothing to be ashamed about, man!"

"It's not embarrassing," he says with a second, longer sidelong look. Courfeyrac doesn't seem like he'll be quick to give this inquiry up and in an effort to avoid an interview Grantaire asks, "What are you anyway?"

"Oh," he answers happily, "A scarlet macaw." The colorful bird strikes Grantaire as a very good choice for the talkative youth, seeing as both are preposterously loud.

"And him?" Grantaire asks, gesturing at Combeferre.

Courfeyrac hums then says thoughtfully, "An eagle of some kind." He raises his voice and shouts, "Yo, Ferre, what sort are you again?"

It must be a question Courfeyrac asks a lot because Combeferre sounds exasperated when he turns partially and says, "Harpy eagle, Cour."

"Right," Courfeyrac says with a snap of his fingers. "A harpy eagle."

He seems to have forgotten the question he originally asked and never returns to it, instead starting to blabber about how he and Combeferre really like flying together. He tells Grantaire in a stage-whisper that it's amused him since he met the man that Combeferre requires glasses while human but can see much further than any human possibly can while eagle; once this is pointed out Grantaire admits that it _is_ rather funny.

Combeferre shoots them a dark look over his shoulder, clearly privy to their less-than-subtle conversation.

They're almost halfway there when they encounter a problem. Enjolras stops them and Combeferre and Courfeyrac come immediately to his side, talking to one another about some march going on tomorrow one town over. Enjolras pulls leashes out of his bag and clips them to their collars and Grantaire lifts an eyebrow, looking at the sign leering at the edge of the long stretch of park ahead of them.

It reads, very clearly: 'NO UNLEASHED SHIFTERS ALLOWED'.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he grouses and Enjolras looks at him with a slight apologetic smile.

"Sorry," he says, tugging out a third leash that he must keep on him for an extra. "Those are the rules."

Grantaire knows that it would be far more dangerous for him to traipse over the grass unleashed then it will be damaging to his pride to accept being dragged around like a common dog but he still takes a minute to come to the inevitable decision. He groans and grabs the hook from Enjolras, cinching it to his collar.

"Here," he says, glowering, as he holds the leash out to Enjolras. "Just don't pull."

He proves to be gentle with the leash and leaves it slackened as they cross the field. Unfortunately it can't be more than four feet in length and to keep it lax Grantaire has to stay close to his side (and tolerate the occasional tug when they stray too far apart). As soon as they reach the other side Enjolras reaches over and unhooks it, accepting Combeferre and Courfeyrac's too. He doesn't say sorry again but he appears just as grateful as Grantaire is that it's over.

The remainder of the walk takes ten minutes at most and Grantaire becomes aware that everyone else is slowing down; this is the saunter people adopt when approaching their houses and he looks around covertly, unable to ignore how nice these houses are.

"Uh, Enjolras," he says, and the blonde looks over his shoulder at him. He's pulling a set of house keys out of his pocket and Combeferre and Courfeyrac are a few feet ahead. "Are you sure we're in the right neighbourhood?"

"Sure," Enjolras says, pointing at the one they're approaching. "That's my house."

It's two storeys high and topped with an attic sporting a floor to ceiling window made out of stained glass; while nothing about it apart from its size screams 'rich', it's a rather obvious message.

"This is your _house_?" Grantaire asks incredulously, trailing after the trio as they mount the steps to the redwood porch. "This is fucking ridiculous. It's the size of a small village."

Enjolras chuckles. "Size has its advantages."

He unlocks the door and holds it open for them and Grantaire tries not to gawk as he steps inside but he's never seen a home this nice. It's well decorated, bright colors lending a charming sort of disarray to the front foyer. The walls are all painted vividly and the ceilings too and as Grantaire drifts through the rooms, absentmindedly following Enjolras, he notes that the colors remind him of the feathers Courfeyrac would wear in his alternate form.

He's studying the layout of the living room while he walks past and becomes suddenly aware that Enjolras has paused a few steps ahead of him. Pulling hastily to a stop Grantaire narrowly manages to avoid running into the blonde, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"I was going to show you where you can sleep," he offers and Grantaire shrugs.

"Alright," he says. "Lead on."

Combeferre and Courfeyrac have both gone upstairs (distantly Grantaire can hear the babble of their voices though he can't pick out the specifics of their conversation) so Grantaire is expecting to go there too; he's surprised when Enjolras takes him to a back bedroom on the first floor instead, located a room over from the kitchen. He opens the door for Grantaire and lets him walk inside, asking from the doorway, "Is this alright?"

Grantaire snorts as he sits on the edge of the bed. "You could've given me a cardboard box and it would've beat the last place I stayed," he muses aloud, missing Enjolras' expression as he looks around the room. It's small but not suffocatingly so and the walls are painted such a hue of red that they're rather alarming and somewhat cheering.

"Yeah, this is good," he repeats, glancing up to grin at Enjolras. "Thanks."

"Not a problem." Enjolras straightens, pocketing both his hands. He considers Grantaire for a moment, a question in his eyes but eventually he says instead, "If you're hungry the kitchen is just right there." He points it out in case Grantaire overlooked it in the tour and when Grantaire nods again he steps back out into the hall.

"I'll see you in the morning then." He turns to go and adds over his shoulder, "It's Combeferre's turn to cook breakfast tomorrow so there should be something ready by the time you get up."

Grantaire nods and watches Enjolras ease the door shut behind him, grinning as he lays back on his bed. It's been a long time since he's stretched out on a mattress this nice and he takes full advantage of it, stripping down to his boxers and crawling underneath the smooth silk sheets.

+++++

Hours later he's awakened rather slowly by the kiss of cool air on his bared feet. He shivers and stirs a bit, reaching blindly for the covers, and starts when his fingers brush skin instead.

"Jesus," he yelps, retreating towards his headboard as Enjolras, chagrined, stands from where he was kneeling at the side of his bed. "Can I, uh, help you with something?" He drags the sheet up to his waist, still sleepy enough that his panic is quickly dampened and replaced with a mild sort of wonderment. Enjolras is dressed in blue night clothes and his gold hair is tussled from sleep; Grantaire's predatory night vision allows him to pick up on other details such as the last button of his shirt hanging undone and the stubborn set to his jaw.

"I'm sorry," he says, putting his hands out in a placating manner. "It was only that Courfeyrac mentioned to me earlier that you had lied about your form and... well, I wanted to see for myself."

When shapeshifters are first born their powers are uncontrollable. They change shape without warning and flicker between human and animal, spending most of their time naked due to the so-called 'flawed' gene that grants them the ability. It is how shapeshifters are known; the parents are then legally obliged to take their children in to get branded, preferably before they turn five.

The brands come in each shape the shapeshifters do: snake, dog, horse, wolf, bird, fish and more. They are put to the right hip bone and leave charred black shapes behind that never fade. After the procedure the children are then listed in a registry under their animal and to make later identification easier, the specific species they are (so Courfeyrac is marked as a bird but also listed as a Scarlet Macaw, and Combeferre too would be in the bird index but under Harpy Eagles).

Thus Grantaire can only assume that Enjolras had been trying to find his brand, an idea that draws a startled laugh from him. He shakes his head and lays back down, willingly lifting his hips.

"Here," he says, his voice sounding thoroughly amused. "Look for yourself."

Enjolras balks once he realizes Grantaire is expecting him to pull his boxers down himself but he doesn't shy away; he tugs the hem down and his knuckles brush the ridged scars as he bares them.

"Holy shit," he whispers, staring down at the dark marks against Grantaire's pallid skin. "You're a _hybrid_?"

"Yep," Grantaire says, watching Enjolras brush his fingers against the brands and trying not to shiver. "That I am."

"Wow." Enjolras studies the two distinct shapes but being human it's difficult for him to pick out their exact type. He looks to Grantaire for the answer, who supplies it without prompting.

"Arctic wolf and Bengal tiger," he counts and Enjolras stares at him, wonder evident in his expression.

He repeats incredulously, "A wolf and a _tiger_?"

"Yeah," Grantaire answers with a sleepy laugh, spreading his arms over his head as he snuggles back into the blankets bunched up underneath him. "It sucks, right?"

Enjolras tilts his eyes away from the way Grantaire's muscles stretch when he moves; his boxers are riding dangerously low and the exposed skin looks softer and of a paler color. He clears his throat. "Most hybrids are not such big animals," he points out, striving to approach this in a scholarly way. "Nor usually comprised of animals that are so... different."

Grantaire nods, sparing a moment for a yawn. Enjolras continues determinedly, "Don't your natures fight?"

"Yep." He rolls onto his side and curls his knees up, watching Enjolras in the dark. He doesn't say it but that's the exact reason he has such a penchant for drinking; the alcohol dulls the ache of the opposing natures and makes it easier to stomach. The wolf wants a pack, is liable to ache desperately for companionship but the tiger is focused strictly on fucking and then immediately moving on; the wolf wants to prowl and run and play and the tiger would much rather stretch out in the sun somewhere and sleep.

"It sucks," he says, half-closing his eyes. "But it gives me a helluva sex drive."

Enjolras awkwardly chuckles and straightens. "Well," he says, "Thanks for showing me."

"Not a problem." Grantaire scratches at the brands and flops onto his back again. He can hear Enjolras breathing so eventually he sighs and asks, "Do you have another question?"

"Actually, I have one more," Enjolras says, folding his arms across his chest. "Hybrids are in high demand, especially someone like you. Your forms are both big enough for manual labor and intimidating enough to provide someone with protection yet you still call yourself a Stray."

"I _am_ a Stray," Grantaire points out good-naturedly. "But you're right. I don't have an owner because honestly, I don't like too many of your kind."

"That's fair," Enjolras allows. "But if you're interested in becoming mine, all you need to do is tell me. I can legally take on another shifter and it would make you legitimate."

Grantaire hums, looking up at the ceiling. Enjolras lingers for a few moments more before he nods and moves towards the door. "Alright," he says, opening it and allowing light from the hallway to spill into Grantaire's room. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah," Grantaire calls after him. "See you."

He listens to Enjolras' footsteps as he returns to his own room and touches his Collar, brushing his thumb against the cool leather. Shifters are expected to wear them even while they sleep and it's as much a part of him these days as his own two hands. He cups the faked tags in his palm and jingles them, thinking about what it would mean to be able to go wherever he'd like again.

**Author's Note:**

> alright peeps so I'm finally back and updating something what up?
> 
> unfortunately it's really late at night here and I am literally en route to bed so I will have to edit in who requested this lovely chapter in the morrow. until then, I can tell you austrus was one person because she asked me to update whatever I wanted to and I really wanted to do this one c:  
> edit: so this was requested by two tumblr!anons and austrus :3
> 
> title comes from the Bruce Barton quote: "When you are through changing, you are through"
> 
> tumblr is idfaciendumest!  
> please don't forget to request shit from me because literally, you guys asking for things is what makes me update them. otherwise I am prone to being lazy/getting busy and not getting anything done!
> 
> kisses to everybody, I love you all :D


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